Fun fact about me: I like bananas but only when they’re just a banana.
Let me explain. I quite like the taste when I’m eating them, but as soon as I’m done I have to go find something else to get rid of the taste. I have a banana every day at work which means I then have to go and scout out something else to eat. It’s usually a spoon of hot chocolate, the powder, not liquid. Sorry, not sorry, use what you can find am I right? I also hate the smell of bananas apart from when I’m the one eating them. Honestly, my worst nightmare is being in a hot, stuffy car and someone eats a banana and then the skin just sits in the groove, cup-holder thing in the middle and the air becomes contaminated by the slimy, yellow pile of gross. I’m holding my breath just thinking about it.
My disgust-verging-on-bizarre-phobia means I absolutely am that person that only eats the biscuit in Banoffee Pie, and you know those little candy marshmallow bananas that look quite fun? Well, to me eating one of those is a bit like sucking on an old man’s big toe.
Why am I prattling on about my personal views on a certain bent, yellow fruit? Good question, and an even better answer.
In Madrid, I live with four other people. They are a few years older than me but I recently found out that this doesn’t mean their maturity levels are miles above mine. Last week, I somehow managed to convince my housemates that horror films don’t really have an impact on me. This is so unbelievably untrue; I spent my friends 16th birthday upstairs watching Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs with her 9-year-old sister because I didn’t want to watch The Bogeyman. Can you blame me? Anyway, I was joking around, they believed me and I just went with it to see how far I could lead them astray. Quite far, it turns out. I literally jumped myself awake the next morning as I discovered a pile of paper that had been pushed under my door with various characters I tend to avoid, the Grudge, that guy with the swirly cheeks that rides around on a little bike, that kinda thing. Another fun fact about me, I am not a morning person. So, you can imagine me stumbling around, a bit zombie-like myself, completely oblivious, unaware, innocent.
My heart eventually returned to normal beating-pace, my eyes opened to a normal seeing-width and I began to my plot revenge. I got to work cling-filming every single object in my housemates’ cupboard. Ha, that’ll show him, I thought.
I came home late from work to pleasantly find everything in order; clingfilm is clearly no match for paper. I was busying about making my lunch for the next day and as I took my bread out of the cupboard I noticed a familiarly off-putting stench. I had some fresh bananas in there and although I doubted their pungency, I mentioned to my housemate how strangely strong the smell was and even showed him the freshness of my bananas to emphasise the outrageousness of the situation. He gave me this look as he replied, ‘Yes, strange isn’t it’.
‘You didn’t put bananas in my cupboard did you? Because if you did I’m going to thump you. I will actually thump you.’
‘Come on, would I be that mean?’. Housemate is aware of my views on curvy, yellow fruit and I thought, ‘No, he wouldn’t stoop that low’. I took them out a left them on the side with the cupboard door open to air out the horrors and moved on.
However, I returned from work the next day to find the stench had intensified quite dramatically. I couldn’t believe it, a whole day with no bananas and the door open and I still had to peg my nose every time I wanted a chunk of choc (which was more frequently that I care to admit).
The next day passed and the smell was starting to spread. Even on the approach to cupboard I could tell there was something festering in there; something bad, something curvy.
Coincidently, I decided I was going to be proper healthy and make a quinoa salad, a Deliciously Ella-esque bowl of green ‘n grain, so had to fish around my haunted cupboard for the ingredients.
You’re not going to believe this. Guess what I found tucked away at the back of my cupboard.
A BANANA. A BLOODY BANANA.*
I turned around, trying not to pass out from the sight of the dark spots that had infected the yellow, and carefully avoiding contact between my finger and the bit of mush coming out the top. I’m actually shivering whilst writing this, dear me it was vile. I turned around to see my housemate bent over (a bit like a banana), crying actual tears as he witnessed the success of his sinfulness. He got me good.
And so began the Housemate War of 2017.
And that’s that. No deep message in this post, just a cry for help as I ask you for any of your best pranks that I can use to get my own back, and maybe something to give you an idea of how to handle that friend of yours with a food fear who’s been getting on your last nerve recently. We’ve all got one of those, right?
*Disclaimer: banana was only bloody in terms of Ron Weasley’s favourite expletive, not actual blood. Ew.